In the Same Room
by ninjakat405
Summary: Request: Set in "A Clash of Kings" time of the television series, Arya is serving Lord Tywin in his chambers when Tyrion has to meet with him. Not knowing whether or not he'll give her away Arya tries to slip away.


**A/N: **More Game of Thrones? What is this? Especially when I have other fics that desperately need updating? I know! A request I got from TDF:

_Arya/Arry is serving Tywin in his chambers, whilst Tyrion comes in to discuss something and recognises Arya. Not knowing whether he'll give away her identity, she tries to slip away with the added problem of not encountering anyone else she might know_...

**I do not own anything that has to do with ASOFAI/Game of Thrones nor the characters. **Enjoy.

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Tyrion crossed his arms, his eyes searching the pitiful form that was Sansa Stark. Her torn dress was piled on a corner, awaiting for the morning in which her chamber-maid would take the shredded cloth and either fix it or find some other purpose for it. Her new clothing, while whole and more fitting, did nothing to hide the large purple bruises blooming along her arms. With a small shake of his head, he wondered where else his nephew's dogs had hit her.

"Do you feel any better?"

Tyrion didn't flinch at the empty blue eyes that lifted to meet his. "I feel much better, my Lord. Thank you."

He sighed. "I will not be here to stop them next time, you know." He pulled out a small role of paper and was tempted to toss it in the trash with the bloodstained dress. "My loving lord father has kindly asked me to join him for dinner. He must be in a very joyous mood to want my company." He frowned at the ghost of the girl. This was not a time for his woes. "Joffery is not the boy to anger, my lady. He is a coward and is in a very unstable position. Only the reputation of my father is keeping him on the Iron Throne. He wants someone to kneel to him and unfortunately has chosen you. Do what he asks and you should not be hurt." He let the 'too bad' hang in the air, the words too foul on his tongue to be spoken. "I shall see you on my return, my lady."

With a sweep of his cloak, Tyrion Lannister left the room, the only sounds his boots clacking on the stone floor and the muffled sobs of a torn child.

It was hard to leave her to that fate. But fate would hand a future much worse if Tyrion didn't find his father soon. It was the only thought that kept him hobbling up the stairs to the tower of the Hand.

"You're late," were the first words out of his father's mouth. The aging man stayed seated as Tyrion entered into the room.

"I'm sorry, dear father. It's so hard to find time to escape the troubles your grandson has made." Tyrion took a chair as far from his father and immediately went for the flagon of wine. He met his father's golden stare with a cocky grin. "What do I owe this _pleasure _to?"

Lord Tywin motioned to a server – a cup bearer – who removed the plates of fruits and cheese on the table and replaced with a map of Westeros. The small boy ducked his head as Tyrion watched him work. The dwarf put a finger to his lips. That face was oddly familiar.

No matter, there were more pressing issues than a forgotten name. Though, he would be sure to bring it up with cup bearer after this wonderful exchange. He blinked, searching for the servant. It was hard to determine between the shadows just where he could be hiding. Why was he hiding? Hideous as he was, Tyrion knew no one had outright hid from him before.

Lord Twyin cleared his throat. "If we could be getting to the problem at hand?" Tyrion nodded, sweeping his gaze over the room one last time. "It seems the Young Wolf has joined the band of self-crowned traitors and is quickly taking action against us. I mean to ride to war. But there are several matters that, while I loathe to admit, would go much more smoothly if you handled them."

"Oh, you grace me, father," Tyrion said, eyes wide as he took another sip of wine. "Just what do you have in mind?"

The cup bearer tried to squeeze himself even further between the tables piled high with dishes and food as the plans of attacks were discussed over the table. Fighting was interesting, yes, even more so when it included the Starks, but not when it was with Tyrion Lannister.

"He recognized me," Arya hissed to herself. In moments, Tyrion would remember her name and reveal it to his father and she would be dead! She had to get out of there. _Swift as a deer and silent as a shadow,_ she reminded herself as she slipped around the tables and stalked over to the door.

"And where are you going?"

Arya stopped dead at the rumbling tone of Lord Tywin. In a flash, she snatched up the closest flagon and clutched it close to her chest. "The wine, my Lord. It's running out."

"Then fetch more." He waved her out without a second glance, but Arya didn't miss the question in his son's eyes.

Down the stairs, she raced, her feet barely touching the stone as she hurried as far away as she could from the tower, her heart beating its way to her throat. If she could just make it to the wine cellar – or anywhere where there was likely to be little people for that matter – she hoped to hide in a corner until Tyrion left the chambers.

"You! Where are you going in such a hurry?"

Arya skidded to a halt, panting, wide eyes flashing up to meet a guard. His hand strayed towards the hilt of his sword. If she still had Needle he wouldn't have been such a problem. "Wine. For Lord Tywin. Lord Tyrion is with him."

"That Imp is always drinking isn't he?" Arya's feet itched to be moving again, away from the people and questions. The guard stared down at her. "Well? Go on. Don't want to keep him waiting, do you?"

With a small nod, Arya was off again in a flash and was stumbling down the stairs to the wine cellar. The cold felt good against her heated face and the silence soothing. She filled up the half-empty flagon from a nearby barrel and sat down on the floor in front of it, back against the wood. She took a deep breath, reveling in the gloom of the cellar, wondering when it would be safe to come out.


End file.
